


fruit punch

by piconeechan



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cruelty, Emetophilia, Humiliation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Humiliation, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piconeechan/pseuds/piconeechan
Summary: it was a flavor that would be in the back of his throat, a memory in the back of his mind.
Relationships: Tom/Tord (Eddsworld)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	fruit punch

A low moan resonated in the relatively empty dining room of the shared household, now currently being inhabited by only two of the pals, rather than the four that’d usually be making their rounds around this time.

Matt and Edd had gone out together to go shopping not too long ago that morning. Hurriedly yelping a “We’re heading off!” As they kicked on their shoes and shrugged on their oh so familiar hoods. They were halfway through the doorway before Edd quickly turned back. This was much to the disdain of the figure accompanying him.

He made sure to chide Tom and Tord before entrusting them with his house.

“Please, for the love of god behave while we’re gone; I can’t keep paying any obscene damage bills anymore-”

And with Edd finally giving into Matt's impatient tugging, the two left the residence for the morning, leaving Tom and Tord alone in the vacant household amongst themselves.

And now, we recap back in the dining room, where Tom and Tord were situated across from eachother, eating their respective morning breakfast, keeping to themselves for the most part.

However, Tom seemingly was the only one who was enjoying his cold morning meal. Tord simply stared wide eyed into his quickly cooling eggs and bacon.

It felt somewhat empty, with other two adjoining seats left uninhabited, it became prominent how desolate and large the table really was. It was also notably much quieter, with the lack of Edd’s optimistic bustling or Matt’s unnerving narcissism. Without being complimented by the lack of Tom and Tord’s usual squabbling, it seemed almost serene.

Don't be mistaken; it most certainly didn't mean that there wasn't any noise, besides a faint crunching from tom, a gritty churning sound and low breaths and groans were also most definitely audible from Tord's side of the table. This irked Tom, who was already aggressive and crusted by sleep. His bounced his leg unconsciously under the table as he slowly chewed his fruity cereal, his patience was most quickly dwindling.

Despite having a set of headphones twirled around his free hand, they were practically trailing an electronic carcass. See, he’d forgotten to charge his phone the night previous; leaving him to sit through an awkward breakfast overshadowed by the hum of Tord's stomach.

Tom’s obsidian orbs settled on the foreign boy across from him, Tord had one arm clutching his gut whilst the other gripping the edge of the dining table, his bitten and stained nails scratching against the hardwood. That was another annoyance for Tom to have the joy of hearing. He mindlessly held onto the headphone cords tighter.

Tord’s face was saturated significantly, emerald pigment blooming across his face and up the bridge of his nose; contrasting the norski's natural yellow complexion. His mouth quivering and slightly ajar slipped out those shallow, infuriating pants.

“Can you stop fapping over there? Have some goddamn modesty, commie.” Tom's voids glared daggers at Tord, who choked the muck from his throat. “Ugh- Shut up Jehovah. You wish .” His jab rolled off his tongue quite roughly. his accent usually cushioned his voice like velvet; But right now the Norski sounded most unwell.

He grumbled on abit longer, however Tom found himself unable to process what he was being told. His attention was devoted to his voice, or rather the sound of it. He was audibly bloated, fuller; as if some sort of pressure were clawing up his esophagus-

And before Tom knew what was happening, Tord regurgitated. A shaky hand slapped against his spitting mouth as a ribbon of hurl glided down his chin and fingers.

Tom choked on his cereal, the sour smell of the contents of Tord's tummy was already overwhelming the scent of his citrusy breakfast.

"Ugh- What the fuck! Go to the goddamn sink or something-!" He pushed his stool back, nudging his cereal towards the end of the table. Distian lined the man's features as he glared at a dazed Tord.

Tord removed his now vomit sullen hand from his lips, smearing it on his pant legs as he glared at Tom. "Shut the hell up you inconsiderate as-" His eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut. After a second he audibly swallowed.

“Go to the trash! Stop smearing your vomit everywhere. And stop spreading all of your disgusting germs!" Tom but at Tord, clutching his spoon tightly in one hand and the earbuds in the other. He couldn't bring himself to really even finish his bowl at this point, the smell was permeating the air stronger by now.

Tord removed his now stew sullen hand from his lips, smearing it on his pant legs as he glared at Tom. "Shut the hell up you inconsiderate as-" His eyes widened and his mouth clamped. After a second he audibly swallowed.

"Go to the trash! Stop smearing your vomit everywhere. And stop spreading all of your disgusting germs!" Tom but at Tord, clutching his spoon tightly in his hand. He couldn't bring himself to really even finish his bowl now, the rancid smell permeating the air. Tord stood, his mouth agape and ready to defend himself. However much he was prepared to ward off Tom's angry bites, he wasn't keeping track of how his essence had risen in his stomach.

"O-" His outburst quickly became gurgles as his stomach constricted within and emptied itself on the waiting table below. The liquid spewing out of Tord was chunky and rotten, scraps of god knows what resting ajar in the puddle soiling the table. It mixed into his once tepid breakfast into a disgusting, partially digested broth, eggs pathetically splattered on by the hailstorm above.

Tom swerved back in his chair; Fumbling to his feet as Tord heaved through the aftermath. The tabletop was now drenched in Tord's lumpy, rancid vermillion goo. It snaked it’s way across the surface, swallowing everything in it’s path. It pooled underneath the salt shakers and around the decorative vase of flowers, tulips pastel petals unable to compensate for the saturated hellscape just below. Tord's throat was dry and raw as he choked on the rancid taste swirled between his lips. Tom gagged unconsciously, his phone clattered to the floor.

In Tom’s fit of shock however, he failed to notice the man approaching slowly, but steadily towards him.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit, Tom. How about we talk over- hic breakfast first?” He hummed in Tom’s ear, the smell of his rancid breath curled Tom’s hair, a fresh layer of goosebumps settling on the surface of his skin. Tord inched himself and the reasonably hostile man closer to the table. Voids now a ghostly, pleading white. 

The surface was still very much sullen by the contents of Tord’s stomach. By now the bile had marinated and it’s scent sang stronger than ever. Tom was petrified. He screeched in Tord’s grip, trying to swerve himself away, arms flailing out for something to grip.

Tord sniggered. The commie wasted no time reaching the edge of the table; he tugged Tom’s face down into the shallow puddle of tepid puke, his hand snaked around Tom’s head. His still grimy fingers found their way into Tom’s caramel hair and laced themselves into it, grinding them into his scalp. He’d make sure Tomee’s coarse locks smelt like his waste for weeks.

Tom opened his mouth to cry out, however this just made Tord wedge his face impossibly deeper into the shallow puddle of hurl. The substance seeped past Tom’s and into his mouth, his tongue stinging at the taste of Tord. He desperately tugged himself away from Tord, but to no avail. The Norwegian boy had all odds against Tom, and he loved every second of his dominance.

Tord cooed at Tom “C’mon Tomee, the longer we sit here while you misbehave the less time you have for Edward to come home; come home and see you not eating like a bad boy.” He leaned himself closer, his nose burrowing into the crook of Tom's neck. “C’mon, It's all yours, Thomas."

More of the tangy substance pooled into Tom’s mouth, Tord smiled as he watched Tom choke back his own juices into the depths of his esophagus.

The eyeless man was tearing up at this point. He was desperate for some sweet release from this agony, he yearned for his organs to spill out and leave him a shelled out carcass amidst the intestinal soup. He yearned of some sort of an escape; a break from the nightmare he unwillingly found himself living through.

Tord sighed, but his breath was caught in his throat. He choked a back a glob of bile before he fumbled around; eyes darting around the kitchen. He knew he didn’t have much time. The commie’s eyes has settled on Tom’s adjacent chair, still flung back from his outburst earlier. He used his free hand to snatch the piece of furniture, tugging it towards Tom and him with his free hand.

Tord released Tom, the latter instantly snapped up to get away, his reflexes desperately kicking back in at the sight of a graspable hope, a possible escape route. Tord was one step ahead of him, as usual.  
Tom could never escape.

Before he could scatter out of the kitchen, Tord swung out at Tom; snatching his wrists and twisting his body into the waiting chair below. Tom could only scream for help once more. Tord slammed the hysterical man back-first into the seat, knocking the wind out of the distressed Jehovah's witness.

Tord glanced around nervously. He’d have to hurry, and he’d have to do something fast. He was currently uncomfortably binding Tom’s wrists in one of his hands, but he knew soon he wouldn’t have the capability to hold the man down, and eventually his grip would falter and give enough leverage for Tom to escape. He’d yet to have the full course!

Tord took an uneasy step back. However, the heel of his foot hit something cold and hard. He jumped and looked back to find Tom’s long since discarded phone;

And an adjoining set of earbuds.

He would’ve cackled if that wouldn’t of sent him into a fit of wheezing. He quickly bent down, grimacing as he did so and swiped for the rubber cord, snagging them from their residing home in the socket of Tom’s phone. He made quick work of tying the cord around Tom’s wrist with suprising grace for someone on the verge of projectile vomiting for the 3rd time in one morning.

Tom growled lowly, tugging relentlessly at the surprisingly sturdy binds that were his checkered clearance section earphones. He bawled as Tord pushed closer; upchuck dripping smile becoming crisper and crisper. The thought made Tom absolutely sick to his stomach.

He'd rather die.

And with that acidic smile inching closer and closer in front of him; the bids around him twisted tighter and tighter with every tug of the arm.

Before he knew what was happening, his foot connected with the commie's agitated gut. It all went in slo-mo- Tord's pupils shriveled and his lips quivered. His body toppled back as his arms flailed and clung desperately to the oaken tabletop.

And unsurprisingly, the floodgates caved spewed forth onto the wooden surface below, angled just above Thomas' abandoned cereal. The soft pink of the milk muddled and swirled with bloody vermillion as the steady flow continued. Cubes sploshed against the softened malleable citrus flakes, the silver spoon now hardly surfacing in the overflowing bowl. Tord left sluggishly helpless against the furniture.

Tom thrashed in his bonds once more. When a small click emerged from the tangled wires, he almost sa in relief. However Tord's slumped figure twisted around to Thomas; mouth dripping anew and eyes unreadable.

When that grin came back, Tom nearly screamed. Tord gave a heavy chuckled, which sounded more like a gurgle than anything else. However to Tom in that moment; that pathetic chirp was absolutely petrifying. Tord leaned up close, running sticky fingers across tear stained cheeks, prodding at those quivering lips. Tom could hardly process anything other than the fear radiating from Tord's ashen pupils.

Tom's nose burned, his throat, his eyes, wrists, lungs. He couldn't breathe. The man in front of him made him feel so minuscule and pathetic; so absolutely disgusting.

Though as much as it hurt him, he couldn't stop staring into Tord's smoked orbs. Desperately trying to map some sort of mercy in the latter's unwavering stare, to which he found none. Through this desperation not once noticing Tord's ghosting right hand behind him. Not even the sloshing could reach his ears, nor did the sudden weight in his lap. All he could hear and process were Tord's sickeningly feather-soft coos and caresses. All he could process was the unfiltered fear and hatred running through his blood.

Tom felt so wretched. The bitter taste on his tongue was burning hotter and fiercer as he squirmed in the seat. Unable to take the pressure, his mouth fatefully made the mistake of creaking agape in a silent gag.

And suddenly the twisted tang paddling across the length of his tounge was now drowning his oral orifice absolutely. Tord stood exactly where he was in front of Tom, but his previously unoccupied right hand was now shoved into his face; however unlike his left, be was holding something.

A drenched silver spoon.

Tom forcefully tried to spit out the silverware and acidic liquid, however Tord pushed the tool deeper into his mouth with the same, if not more fevor. Tom couldn't even turn away. The gentle soft caress of his cheekbones had become a digging crop holding his skull down. All Tom could do was sit, midnight sockets eliciting more saltwater globs as the soupy vomit got warmer in his mouth with each agonizing second.

"You like fuuh-fucking playing wwith you foo-uoh-d? Huh? You wanna fuckin' play? Swallow it bitch; eat it like the piggish w-whore you are-!" Tom choked through tears as he unwillingly gulped the substance down; the sourness invading his throat mercilessly. He was shaking violently, the goosebumps dancing across his heated flesh felt more like hills by now. Not to mention the weight of Tord's presence was indefinitely suffocating, as if the air around them had been tied to invisible bags of sand.

And the struggle would bleed into the following few bites. They were quick; agonizingly so. If he couldn't breathe now, he never could. The thought ran his blood cold. The idea of dying- dying in the middle of the dining room covered in acid and tears. Dying to that bastard's sick smile, dying to the feeling of his evident bulge grinding against his thigh.

Never- oh please god no. His stomach had reached its limit, his body unable to cope with the unbridled agony and flavor of despair. His mouth twisted open and he let loose the mish-mash of his intestines. His puke was noticeably lighter than Tord's, a tame creamy color. Specs of their dinner and Tom's breakfast framed the liquid of his insides. The contents also marred by Tord's own.

Chunks of mysterious substances swirled with rancid tangerine. It crashed against Tord and the front of his already soiled nightwear. Tom flung forward as a result of the velocity of his release, Causing Tord to fumble back indirectly into Tom's blast radius. The bowl in his hand filling anew as the everlasting eruption continued on; soaking into the fabric of his clothes, splashing on his skin.

Tord simply stood shell shocked, body rooted in place. As quickly as it had begun, Tom was hacking and spitting in the aftermath. His fists clenched one last time, and with a mighty pull; the cord snapped. He unraveled his binding and scampered away. The chair he once sat upon empty and warm. The bonds around him once remorseless and impenetrable now stretched and deformed. The oak table once glossed with varnish now settled underneath a layer of mistakes.

Tord came back to life quick enough to hear the heavy patter of Tom's feet down the halls; the sound of his unmistakable heaving as he shuffled away. Tord couldn't help the pathetic smile etched on his skin as he collapsed in the moist cushioning of the seat beneath him. He swore he could still feel Tom's heat within the gushing foam. He sighed and stared into the bowl, now heavy in his lap. Tord smiled solemnly at his pumpkin colored reflection. 

His fingers wrapped around the fogged silver of his spoon. Lifting the utensil, he watched as the sludge inside overflowed in the shallow confines. He stared back out at the dining room itself. The drenched tabletop, the puddles lining the floors. The quiet wet footsteps scattering away. He silently brought the spoon to the edge of his lips. The fruity swirls and the industrial scent sizzled his nostrils so deliciously.

~~Sllluuurrrpppp-!

He supposed Edd would be home soon, he supposed Tom would never look him in the eye again. But for now; the breakfast was still steaming hot.


End file.
